


To Guide and To Love

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Vagina, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Smut, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A very soft short fic of Hank guiding Connor through their first time.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 183





	To Guide and To Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a kinktober piece written off the prompt 'handjobs' but I've rewritten most of it.

Day 1 – Handjobs

Hankcon, Canon

Deviancy hadn’t come as easily to Connor as it had to other androids, even in the months after the successful revolution, Hank had to watch, occasionally guiding, as he fumbled through feeling new, often overwhelming emotions and living without a handler telling him right from wrong.

Not that Connor doesn’t understand right and wrong, but living without clear mission parameters proved to be more dizzying than he thought it would be. Above anything else though, he struggles with expressing himself outside of the rigid box Cyberlife had set out for him, and spends too much time worrying over whether the way he’s reacting is ‘human’ enough, even if he knows there’s no need for him to do that. Even now, months on, he’ll still sometimes pause and take longer than socially acceptable to assess whether he’s doing things the ‘right way’.

Hank had teased him about it at first. He found it a little funny, how Connor had never seemed to follow his orders before, how he’d been ‘a little shit that did whatever he wanted’, but deviancy had made him missionless and much more self-conscious over how he is perceived.

As much as he doesn’t miss Amanda and her constant criticisms, he does miss having clear objectives. Visiting Jericho is always an uncomfortable experience, he feels as if the others are watching, judging, as if they can sense how much he is struggling. They make everything look so easy, even if he knows from interfaces that everyone has their doubts about themselves sometimes.

Making difficult decisions feels like being bounced off of a wall and thrown back into a learned helplessness. It’s unreasonable, but there’s always a lingering paranoia that what he feels is somehow wrong or not normal, or that he’ll be threatened with deactivation for stepping out of line, despite most of the people around him doing nothing but encourage his growing individuality.

And he _has_ gotten much better, especially after the dust had settled and the trauma experienced by androids had started to be addressed. Jericho runs a lot of group meetings focusing on sharing experiences and advice on how to overcome various difficulties, but Connor hasn’t attended any of them, even if he knows they could be helpful. Instead he’d spent most of his time in Jericho around its leaders, offering insights into the probability of various human politicians supporting different android rights ideas, and in return had grown quite comfortable around Markus and the others.

He supposes they can be counted in his handful of friends, they don’t meet much outside of official reasons, but they do check up on each other via their links every now and then. He’s never shared the complete details of what had happened during Markus’ speech, but they do know about the Amanda handler programme, and they’d helped to reassure him during some of his darker days that what he had done pre-deviancy hadn’t been his fault.

Even still, despite being an android, he feels as if humans are easier to understand. Maybe that comes from the fact that he spends most of his time around them, unlike the majority of androids who have chosen to surround themselves with other androids for the time being, at least until they’re comfortable enough to venture out. Most humans are… neutral towards him, but of course there’s the occasional one who’s downright hostile.

As for him and Hank, well, it had taken until summer was just beginning for them to finally stop dancing around each other, when the longing gazes and lingering touches had become unbearable for the both of them. Maybe it was for the best, it had certainly given Connor more time to really grow into himself.

It was during that summer, a season he’s found himself enjoying with all its greenery and energy, that he’d really started getting… urges. Chalk it up to him previously being too preoccupied with how to function post deviancy or the sudden upsurge in androids beginning to explore the more sexual aspects of relationships, but desire is an emotion that had hit him like a freight train.

The unusually warm weather hadn’t helped him reign in control over his overheating processors in the slightest when his mind had begun to churn out a series of more intimate preconstructions and Hank’s handsy nature, a hand always touching him – his shoulder, his lower back to guide him somewhere, or ruffle his hair, hadn’t helped at all.

It had even started to affect his work. He was made to be able to handle hundreds of processes at one, but once his mind supplied him with one preconstruction of Hank’s touch trailing up his arm it had only escalated from there – hands mapping out his body, lips against his own, how Hank’s bulk would feel pressed down against him, grounding him, how it would feel to be split open in the most intimate way.

He’s ashamed to admit that he’s scanned Hank a little – a lot – more thoroughly than is probably necessary. Hank had noticed pretty quickly when Connor started to get distracted more often, but luckily he’d managed to throw him off the scent, telling him that he just needed to go into stasis or run updates. Not that that had stopped his eyes from trailing down onto the bulge in Hank’s boxers whenever they’d find themselves sat together on the couch.

Suffice it to say it hadn’t taken him long to get closely acquainted with Hank’s shower-head. He’s in there practically every day now with the excuse that although he doesn’t need to bathe as often as a human, he still enjoys it. Hank hadn’t questioned him about it, but he was definitely starting to raise his eyebrows at how often it was happening.

By the time the two had kissed Connor had known about his own feelings for months, and it had taken him weeks to fully accept them, terrified of the prospect of pushing Hank away by revealing them, even if he was almost certain that Hank felt the same way from the way his heartbeat would quicken and how often he seemed to flush now.

Their first kiss wasn’t dramatic or spur of the moment. It was comfortable, and Connor thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way. Their touches had been getting progressively more deliberate for weeks. On nights that they’d spend curled up on the couch Hank would even softly press his lips against the top of his head, his sensors going haywire at the tickling of breath ghosting over this hair. But Hank never pushed further than that, unbeknownst to him at the time it was because he’d wanted Connor to be sure of himself.

When it did happen it was a night like any other, the two watching the game. Or Hank was watching the game, Connor was too busy focusing his attention on the leg that was so close to his own, not quite close enough to touch but he was hyper aware of the heat radiating off of the other man.

He’d even flinched when Hank moved to drape a heavy arm over his shoulders, pulling him into the plush softness of his chest in a way that always comforts him, but that night he had too much on his mind to nuzzle in like he usually would. Of course, Hank noticed immediately.

“You okay?” The memory of Hank’s fingers lightly tipping his head up is ingrained deep into his mind, practically fried into his circuits along with the visual of concerned blue eyes looking down at him.

“There’s something I want to try.” He’d said in a low murmur, eyes trailing down to Hank’s lips, then back up. Hank’s experience must have told him what Connor wanted, because he could sense immediately when Hank’s heart rate picked up.

“Yeah?” There was a gentle, encouraging smile tugging at his lips, and Connor thought it was endearing that he could tell that Hank was trying not to bite them out of nervousness.

But he’d lost his nerve, had sighed and tried to look down, away from the eyes boring into his own, seeing straight into him. He’d told himself that he’d be confident in what he wanted, but saying is easier than doing.

With a resigned noise he jerked his head away, a small ‘nevermind’ leaving his lips on an exhale.

Hank didn’t let him do that. As soon as he’d pulled his head away the hand at his chin turned him back, thumb stroking experimentally over the crease of his lips, parting them ever so slightly. The touch was scalding, but he didn’t want to turn away, and the way Hank was looking at him caused a whole catalogue of errors and warnings.

“Connor,” A shudder actually ran through his body at the feeling of Hank’s breath – featherlight, warm, human – over the hair trigger sensors of his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

He’d let the words hang in the air, daring Connor to take action. And he had, leaning forward to press against Hank, body thrumming, overworking itself to analyse everything about the kiss, from the sensation of another pair of lips against his own for the first time to the deep, satisfied sigh that left the older man, a light groan emanating from his chest that Connor could feel in the hand he’d pressed between them, fingers clutching at the fabric of Hank’s shirt. It was nothing his preconstructions could ever have prepared him for.

It eventually evolved from chaste to something deeper that had embarrassing, barely controlled noises leaving him as the kiss progressed from a gentle press to a tongue licking cautiously over his plush bottom lip, seeking permission that was eagerly granted.

Connor had to pull away when the sensors Cyberlife had deemed necessary to install in his mouth became too overwhelmed by the rush of new information. Overheated pants left his parted lips and Hank, every thoughtful, didn’t press on immediately, though once Connor had finished processing the backlog of new information their lips found each other again many times over the course of the evening.

That had been weeks ago, and the two haven’t taken things any further than that. Not that these past few weeks haven’t been some of the happiest of Connor’s life, but he wants more, wants Hank to see everything that he is, for him to know him inside and out and for Connor to do the same.

An all too familiar burn makes him rub his legs together from where he’s sitting at his desk across from Hank, uncomfortably wet and just praying that he isn’t soaking through his work pants. If you ask his what the most annoying aspect of deviancy is he’d quickly reply that it’s his mind’s tendency to wander. Today it’s chosen to get stuck in a loop of imagining Hank touching him, opening him up with his mouth or his fingers, sinking his-

“You alright there Con?” Hank’s voice above him shakes him out of his thoughts, preconstructions melting away as the present comes back to him. Embarrassed, he notes that their shift is over and Hank has already tugged his coat on.

“Just preoccupied.” The excuse is paper thin but Hank only shrugs, waiting for him to make a move to leave. He stands to follow his partner out, barely noticing the spike in Hank’s heartrate due to the absurd amount of processing power he’s having to dedicate to ignoring the persistent throbbing between his legs.

The ride back home is torturous, every one of his sensors honed in on every part of Hank, from the way his hands – thick, sturdy – grip the steering wheel to his teeth digging into his lower lip in thought. Any conversation Hank tries to hold with him goes completely over his head, thoughts clouded with trying to figure out why Hank won’t take things further.

He’s definitely felt Hank’s interest pressing into him on the nights they get carried away exploring each other’s mouths before settling down for the night. Maybe Hank thinks he doesn’t possess any components down there. But he had told Connor that he’d wanted to kiss him weeks before Connor had taken the initiative. Maybe this is like that, and he’s waiting for a green light.

If he wants Connor to start things, he will.

He’s only just hung hit coat up at the door, but Connor doesn’t let him get any further than that before he’s turning the older man around to face him, leaning up ever so slightly to press their lips together, arms winding around the lieutenant’s neck. Hank doesn’t seem overly surprised, grunting in a way that makes Connor shiver with pent up energy before he quickly yields to the soft lips that have captured his own.

They don’t exchange words, only slowly make their way into the bedroom, barely avoiding tripping over Sumo’s slumped form.

Connor’s jacket and tie have been lost somewhere along the way by the time Hank guides him down onto the bed, cushioning his head in the cradle of one arm while his other hand works at the buttons of Connor’s shirt, slowly revealing the expanse of his chest.

It’s the most he’s ever been on display to another person, despite most androids lacking a sense of shame over their bodies Connor can still feel a sense of vulnerability. The feeling of Hank crowding into his space, thumb stroking reverently over his trim waist, quells it immediately with a sense of security, of home.

A shaky breath barely manages to pass his lips before they’re taken up by Hank’s own while he shuffles to help the other man remove his shirt fully.

A shaky breath barely manages to pass his lips before they’re taken up by Hank’s own while he shuffles to help the other man remove work his shirt fully.

“Hank,” He rises into a sitting position, fingers caressing over the collar of Hank’s shirt. “I want to see you too.”

Hank hums in response, shifting to sit back against the headboard as he fiddles teasingly with the buttons. “You sure? I wasn’t built perfect like you.”

“You’re perfect to me.” Watching the blood rush to Hank’s face is worth the ribbing he’ll get later for being cheesy.

Connor leans into him, trailing kisses from his cheekbones to his neck where sensors pick up his rising heart rate while Hank finishes up with getting his shirt off.

Once it’s off he swings a leg over Hank’s thigh to straddle him, the movement unpracticed and hindered by the fuzz of his mind sorting through a torrent of new sensations. A groan leaves him when the wiry hair on Hank’s chest brushes over his own, barely remembering to let the human breathe as he claims his mouth again and again.

He can feel Hank’s arousal between them, and his own component throbs when he reaches down between them to cup his hand over the bulge, hole clenching futilely around nothing as he takes in the solid girth at his fingertips.

Hank helps him by unbuckling himself, letting out a low groan when Connor delves in to free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Once he does, Connor has to pause for a moment, lagging as he takes in so much new information that he’s labelled as high priority.

The sight of Hank’s cock completely overrides how he’d imagined it in his scans. Preconstructions could tell him nothing about how the real thing would feel in his hand, hot and heavy in a way that almost makes him reboot right then and there.

He’s shamefully aware that his lubricant has indeed soaked through his pants, but if Hank has noticed it starting to dampen his own jeans he hasn’t commented yet and a shudder wracks through his chassis, voice catching on a small loop as he drags his hang up Hank’s length, the delicate sensors of his palms and fingers cataloguing every vein and change in texture beneath his hand.

A hand cups his chin, drawing his attention away “We can stop here if you want-” He says, gruff voice getting caught when Connor shifts in his lap. “If this is too much.”

“No,” Connor breaths, lifting himself for a moment, just to pulls Hank’s jeans and boxers off his legs completely before he sits back down, and this time Hank definitely notices the dampness at the seat of his pants, if the way his hand curls around to cup his ass and squeezes is any indication. “I want to do this. Just- show me?”

He watches Hank swallow, nodding slowly and bringing his hand down from Connor’s chin to guide the hand wrapped around his dick.

The temptation to lick the small bead of precum forming at the tip or to take the head into his mouth would be overwhelming if not for Hank’s stuttering breaths distracting him. Hank’s other hand has started fiddling idly with the short hairs on the back of his head, drawing him forward to rest one cheek against his chest, eyes glued his own hand, watching it move of its own accord when his thumb swipes across the slit.

“Fuck, Connor.” There’s a sense of accomplishment as Hank starts rutting his hips up to fuck into him, one hand pulling impatiently at the waistband of Connor’s pants. “Get these off.”

The hand on Hank’s cock falters in it’s movements as Hank undoes him, hands tugging his jeans down to his thighs, and it’s with reluctance that he helps Hank undress him, eager to get his hands back on the older man. Every reward centre programmed into him sparks when Hank’s dick twitches at the sight of him fully undressed, any niggling worry that Hank wouldn’t approve of his choice of component thrown completely out of the window.

He presses into Hank’s lips again, the brush of his beard against his face and the glide of the other’s dick in his hand, getting faster and faster, almost makes him feel as if he is going to come undone himself. “Is this alright?”

“Yes, God I-" Hank's face goes through a whole new spectrum of emotions, watching Connor bring his other hand beneath himself, shuddering when he swiped his fingers through his folds, collecting some of the slick that's been steadily leaking out of him.

“Jesus Christ.” His hand glides over Hank much easier now and he has to bite back a noise when he feels Hank coiling beneath him, length tightening in his hand, dark eyes glued to Hank’s face, not wanting to miss a thing when he goes over the edge.

Watching Hank when he does tip over the edge practically crashes his systems, programmes working overtime to keep up when Hank’s hand clamps down harder at his shoulder. If he were human he would be leaving little crescents in his skin, but instead his skin has receded to reveal the white of his chassis. His hips jerk up into his motions a few more times before they stutter to a stop, come making a mess of his belly and coating Connor’s hand. Even Hank recovers before him while he tries to process everything that’s just happened, LED a constant circle of yellow.

“I’m okay.” Hank reaches forward to hold his face and his eyes flit closed, blocking all visual stimuli to focus on the feeling of Hank’s clammy forehead against his own, breath still struggling to right itself. “It’s a lot to catalogue.”

“You sure?” He asks. “Come here.” He spread his legs, letting Connor settle between them and lie back, melting into the cradle of his arms, neither of them caring that Hank’s spend is between them and marking Connor’s back.

He takes a few moments to enjoy the feeling of Hank’s heavy hands smoothing down his arms, massaging the joints in his delicate hands in a way he’s learned satisfies the sensors built into Connor for calibration. A pleasant static runs through his at the feels of Hank’s beard scratching the back of his neck, legs rubbing together again with the urge to touch himself. His hips are making tiny little movements, desperate for some sort of friction and Hank hums behind him, voice vibrating from where he’s started peppering kisses along Connor’s jawline. “Figured this was coming up sooner or later.”

“How did you know?” Anything else he wants to add is cut off when Hank cups a hand over his mound, thick fingers teasing down his wet slit to apply a gentle pressure to his clit that makes him whimper, arousal flaring inside him, threatening to tip over already. It’s another thing his preconstructions could never prepare him for.

Hank’s other hand lifts one of his knees to hook over on of his spread thighs, pressing a small kiss to the jut of his cheekbone when he whimpers at being opened up to the room, wincing in self-consciousness at the wet sounds coming from him, Hank’s fingers rubbing slow circles into his clit. “You left a mark on your chair.”

Something in the back of his mind wants to quip back that he’s already made a bigger mess on the sheets, but embarrassment and shame that anyone at work could have seen threatens to flare up. His LED must have spun red a few times because Hank is quick to distract him, applying more pressure as he rubs and he chuckles lowly when Connor's head falls back to rest on his shoulder, hole quivering, self-lubrication feature going haywire while he pants overheated breaths into the already warm summer air.

“I need you.”

The deep hum behind him sends another thrum of pleasure through his chassis, body both trying to press forward into Hank’s hand and backwards into his chest, a hand gripping one of the thick thighs circling him hard enough to leave little marks in Hank’s skin as he continues rubbing small circles, an abundance of lubrication making the motion smooth.

“That’s it.” His free arm crosses over Connor to wrap him securely in his warm embrace. “I’ve got you.”

He thinks he tries to say Hank’s name, his lips form around the word but his voice cuts off half way through, body going stiff as he rides out another wave of pleasure, not quite at the peak yet but he’s definitely not going to last much longer.

It’s much different to all the times he’s done this in Hank’s shower, when he’d shut off his voice functions all together to avoid suspicion. He doesn’t have to hide anymore, voice leaving him in static tinged moans at Hank’s shoulder from where his head's still limply tipped.

“Yeah?” Hank's beard rubs against his jawline where he's nuzzling in, teeth closing gently over Connor's earlobe and pulling another embarrassing noise out of him. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

There’s no point even trying to answer, the only thing he can do is just let Hank guide him towards release, breathy moans pushing their way out of his parted lips, a familiar heat coiling inside him.

Until a thick finger presses gently at his entrance, asking permission, and his hand rushes down of its own accord to clamp around Hank’s wrist. “Too much?” He still can’t make his voice work properly so he just pulls at Hank’s wrist again in a jerky movement, and Hank is quick to focus his attention back on his clit. Even just the thought of something triggering the receptors inside him is overstimulating. It’s something to explore another time, when everything isn’t so new.

But this time he wants Hank to finish him like this, holding him like he’s something precious. Connor reaches back, burying his fingers into Hank’s hair, gently tugging in a way that makes Hank groan right next to his ear, fingers quickening in their pace, pushing Connor closer to an edge that threatens to overload him.

When he finally tips over it the burn from Hank’s fingers at his clit explodes into something that makes his entire body radiate with pleasure, all motor control gone and the sound that comes out of him makes him glad that they don’t have any neighbours.

Then there’s nothing. And by the time his systems come down from the high enough to reboot his internal clock tells him that he’s been out for 46 seconds.

The first thing he notices is that he’s still being held, though he’s lying on his back now and when he opens his eyes he realise Hank has been leaning over him, hands framing his face. “You back with me”?

“I-” He tests out his voice. “I’m sorry, I overloaded a little-”

Hank’s fingers brush over his hair, gentle twirling the stray curl that always falls over his forehead and he presses his lips against his LED. “You don’t have to apologise.”

Connor relaxes, content to let Hank fuss over him.

“It’s happened before?”

“Once, when I first got...” When he glances down then back up from his component Hank’s eyes light up, as if he’s just figured something out.

“Please," He barks out a disbelieving laugh. "don’t tell me it was that time you ‘slipped in the bathtub'.”

Hank chuckles again when Connor shoves him back to lie on his side, a smile tugging at his lips. “I knew you were spending a weird amount of time in there.”

“Not just me.” He pouts. “Since our first kiss the amount of time you’ve spent in the shower has increased by-”

Hank cuts him off by leaning forward into him, lips meeting in a deep kiss that seems to convey everything they want to say, and Connor almost feels as if he can feel more of Hank this way than if they were able to interface together. “I get it, we’re as bad as each other.”

There’s a fatigue setting into Connor’s frame that he usually only gets when he hasn’t charged for weeks. “It might take me a while to process all of that.”

“Slow down, we’ve got plenty of time to try everything.” Hank shushes him. “Besides, I’m old. Not getting it up again anytime tonight either.”

It’s like he suddenly remembers the mess they’ve made, and he grimaces, wiping his hands through the soaked hairs of his belly, and Connor is suddenly very aware of the patch he’s also made on the sheets.

He helps Connor up onto his unsteady legs. “Let’s get a quick shower now, then you can rest.”


End file.
